WE USED TO BE DARKER
by mauvemaude
Summary: Severus Snape is intercepted at death's door (train station) to teach wizard kind how to properly harness the power of dark magic. He will make several unlikely alliances, take on three teenage apprentices, challenge the wizarding world order, and even get another chance at happiness if he plays his cards right. Rated M because dark magic breaks all the rules.
1. Prologue: At Death's Train Station

**WE USED TO BE DARKER**

 _In honor of the 20th anniversary of some books I held dear._

 ** _Prologue_**

It was bright and wavy. High vapor content in the air. Microscopic particles of moisture catching the light so everything shimmered dully, clouding and distorting the environment before him. The substance reminded him very much of the steam that billowed out of a cauldron of Pepper-Up Potion...but the substance surrounding him did not have the density of steam. Curious.

Where was he?

Looking down, he observed his feet, rested on a spongy horizontal substrate, colorless and uniformly extending monotonously in all directions. His feet seemed very far away.

Moving his awareness outward, he registered vertical columns springing up from the spongy plane at semi-regular intervals all around, interrupting the wavy bright light and obscuring his view in places. (His view of what…? What had he come here for? Surely he must be here for a purpose.) At their tops the thick brown columns shredded into a green fuzz that swished back and forth in unison, as if pushed by a huge invisible hand. Yes, this was a familiar sight. But what was the word for it? His mind felt as foggy as the steam clouding his vision. And then in the back of his head he felt the faint swelling of a thought from deep within that fog. Reaching back with his consciousness he groped around clumsily, sure this was important but unsure what exactly he was looking for. He seized it! Suddenly the word slid into his mind and out thtough his mouth onto his lips. "Forest" he murmured. He was in a forest.

A flash of something even brighter - so bright it hurt to look at it - hurtled through the trees overhead and complying with his instinct he followed it, weaving through the trees easily due to the lack of foliage or underbrush. After some time the trees thinned and he came across a low stone wall next to some railroad tracks where a wizened old man sat swinging his legs and eating hard candies from a paper bag.

"Right on schedule, Severus" the old man called, applauding. The sound from the hands reverberated around the clearing. Severus noticed that it bounced off the trees and echoed a few times before silence fell again. He glanced back to the person who had clapped and they stood silently for a few moments. And he realized the old man was talking to him.

"...Dumbledore," he spoke hesitantly.

"Fantastic," the old man replied, "it seems you are regaining your mental faculties, and have at least progressed enough to absorb the content of this conversation. This type of… travel… can be rather disorientating, you see. Trust me - I know how difficult it is for you my boy - but try. I speak from experience. And listen! Consequently we haven't much time so please stay alert."

Severus said nothing, just stared back.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Taciturn as always of course! I must admit I adore that you never changed. But things here certainly will, and soon. You see, neither of us is actually supposed to be here. And I myself have severely overstayed my welcome. As you may be starting to remember, back in another world - the world of the Living - I was a wizard who wielded great power. I quite enjoyed it, although I liked to pretend and tell others that this was not the case. But like all living beings, eventually I was killed. At that moment, like anyone else, the life force immediately left my body, whisked away toward the world Beyond. And the world Beyond is where I would be I would be had I not taken special measures to tether myself here.

"How does one accomplish this, you might ask? As I said, I was a wizard of formidable power and skill." Dumbledore began speaking rather quickly, almost as if he were in a debate competition, trying to squeeze in as many points as possible within an approaching time limit. Severus wondered if that time limit applied to him too. "In the brief moments between knowing I would die and the casting of the curse that did the job, I cast a powerful charm (of my own design). It is very complex, but essentially it packaged up all of my magical essence and suspended it in this place, the Transition Zone, and as long as I maintain strict concentration I can continue to stay here, postponing my passage into the world Beyond. And I did it all to wait for you. Because I have a message that you must hear."

"A….message?" Severus responded groggily.

"Correct," Dumbledore responded, and pressed on. "First and foremost, the train. At this platform in a few moments, there will be a train. When it arrives, I need you to board it."

"Do not hesitate. It will take you back. This is not a choice. You have shouldered many burdens my dear man, yet there is still one more that I need you to bear. I cannot say this is fair, but trust me that this is an important role that truly only you can enact. And finally, you must take this."

Dumbledore handed Severus a thin, sturdily-bound book. "It will help." The older man smiled thinly. Innumerable tense wrinkles crowded around the outskirts of his warm expression and Severus felt the ghost of some deep emotion welling up briefly inside of him. But the moment was rapidly flittering by.

Dumbledore now spoke with a finality. "Stand strong, trust your instincts. You are in Fate's capable hand. Try not to be so bitter. You might think of this peculiar turn of events as a second chance at a thing or two, if you chose to take it. Or perhaps you may not."

Dumbledore's form had begun to flicker and his figure sagged against the brick wall, looking frail. "Until we meet again Severus".

The old man placed a flickering hand on his shoulder, and looked into Severus's eyes with a piercing blue gaze as he slowly faded away.

A few minutes later, a train arrived as promised. Automatically, Severus stepped aboard.


	2. Chapter 1: Volunteers

_Chapter 1_

 ** _Volunteers_**

At approximately 8:23am on Friday, the 5th of August, the patient in bed number 13 of the Bathilda B. Bagshot Memorial ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies began to regain consciousness.

His eyes were still closed, and his mouth was dry and painful, but suddenly, he could hear things. At first it all felt unintelligible, garbled and static, but concentrating deeply, he began to discern sounds that were familiar. Clicking and and terse voices and wheels and and shuffling feet on a flagstone floor. A moan. A sigh. A spill and a shattering vial. Clumsy! He wanted to yell. But the patient was too weak.

He sucked in a breath of air through his nostrils and discovered his olfactory senses were with hime as well. This patient had always prided himself on his keen ability to detect odors. He smelled antiseptic and dying flowers and the faint aroma of bile. Behind his closed eyelids, still too heavy to open, garish fluorescent light creeped in. A hospital perhaps?

Yes, he must be in a hospital. Some time passed, most sounds repeating over and over on semi-regular cadence. The patient felt bored and thirsty and wondered when that discomfort that provided most of this sensory information might be put to an end. There was nothing to do but wait, and wait some more. So he listened.

Faintly in the distance he heard a tinny voice, like the sort that came from wizarding wireless radios. It grew a bit louder as footsteps approached his door.

"...her press conference with top officials in the Auror office went incredibly well, with them agreeing to set up a think tank for developing innovative ways to root out Darkness at its source. And it's getting rave reviews from all over. Both parties pledged quite a bit of gold anyway. And while Mumford's approval rating is mostly high in the UK, it is unknown how the rest of Europe will react to her bold vision. And now over to Alicia Spinnet with the scoop from the Goblins Trade Union conference..."

CLICK. Someone had abruptly turned off the wireless and the news report ceased. A gust of air whooshed in as the door to the ward opened and a curtain that must be beside his bed was pushed aside. Four sets of footsteps entered the room and their owners began chattering away. The patient much preferred the news report.

"You girls are so sweet to come out here like this and bring some cheer to our ailing community members. Just darlings! Do you know how few young people have your sense of community spirit? FEW!" a middle-aged female voice trilled.

"Well, let me start you off with a familiar face then. Professor Snape! HALLOO PROFESSOR!" A voice bellowed in the patient's ear, stinging his ear drums. What in the name of Agamemnon! "(We just have to do this in case he wakes up)." The voice said in a stage-whisper. Worse still, the yell was shortly followed by a THWACK - she had slapped his right cheek! What sort of hospital was this?! He wanted to cry out and retaliate, but the impulse from his brain was drowned out as soon as it reached his extremities. His vocal chords refused to cry out; his arms stayed motionless at his sides.

"There now, it appears your professor is still comatose. But if you believe the Muggles he may still be able to hear us, so why not try and to entertain him for a while anyhow? Then you can feel free to continue down the hall though the rest of the ward. Have fun girls."

He heard one set of footsteps depart, and three sets of footsteps move threateningly forward, around what must be his bed. A few inches away they paused and the chattering resumed.

"Snape! Merlin what are the odds."

"Hm, he doesn't look so scary lying here likes this, helpless."

"I think he looks rather like a corpse." The other two voices grimaced.

"This is ridiculous. How in the world do we entertain someone in a coma?"

"We can't exactly do our burlesque routine, " an airy voice deadpanned.

"Heee Ha ha ha ha heh!" a young female laughed, unable to stop despite being shushed by another young woman in the group. "Oh my god Luna, one day you're gonna kill meee. Sorry Hermione, it's just…. Oh man. Well fine. What do you want to do?"

There was a short silence. "I suppose, we just try and talk to him."

. . . 

Hesitatingly, one set of feet approached the patient's bed. "Hello! Er… Good Morning professor! How are you doing over there?" she said, a little too loudly. This question was met with silence. The patient lay motionless on his bed with no sign of comprehension.

Then the airy voice took a turn. "I hope that wherever your mind is you're finding it pleasant. I can see the wrackspurts gathering round you. I hope you are enjoying their company. Not everyone likes them you see, but I do. I believe it's an acquired taste." Merlin's boots. That must be the Lovegood girl. The hours of his time she'd wasted droning on about mythical potions that were impossible to brew, or ingredients from creatures that did not exist, hours when he could have been doing something productive or god forbid relaxing for a moment. Severus was surprised to feel that old grudge bubbling up so readily. He began to wonder how long he had been here.

"Lovely you two," said the laugh-er. "Well I'd say we've done our civic duty now eh? Maybe we can get drop the charade and just get down to business."

"Let her go on a while longer. It can't hurt," said Hermione.

"One second... don't tell me you believed all that crap you sold our parents?" the laugh-er responded. She really was a bit uncouth. "...'Volunteering at the hospital at a time of crisis is our civic duty', and 'If we don't step up and pick up the slack, Wizarding Britain will have failed her citizens irreparably'... I didn't know you really bought into all that. I thought we just needed a safe place to scheme." Then the patient finally recognized the laugh-er's voice. It was that Weasley girl - she sounded just like her brothers Fred and George, despite her voice being half an octave higher. Scheming. He had never actually caught Ginevra breaking any rules, something Severus now counted as personal failure. He now knew it was more than a mere coincidence that the number of Slytherin accidents had always increased whenever she was in the room. How she had always spoken in a tone that was close to, but not actually polite. How he wished he had just once found an excuse to catch her in the act and haul her into detention. Perhaps he might have made her cry. The corners of his lips reflexively tried to smile.

"Well of course we are here to… strategize. But as everyone knows the best stories contain within them a kernel of truth. And this particular kernel of truth is a little sad. I think that very few people in this entire hospital think very much about the patients in this ward. Just because they can't move or speak does not mean they aren't living, feeling beings."

"You're such a Muggle. But I love you for it."

Now everything clicked into place. Of course the ringleader would be the Granger girl. Oh fate was cruel. He had failed to recognize her voice at first since it had changed slightly… no longer was her speech shrill and overly fast, teeming with facts and footnotes. It was slower, and more deliberate. As if she now understood her power. He suddenly felt a sinking feeling. Was he, yet again, to be a pawn in someone else's plan?

"Well if you insist, I suppose we can spare a little time for pleasantries before we get down to business." said Ginny. "Go ahead confess you love or ask him to check your homework or whatever… and meanwhile I'll do Sevvie's toenails. Vermillion would be fetching, don't you agree?"

He felt a gust of air as she flung back the bottom portion of his bedclothes, followed by an uncomfortable pressure as she sat down, straddling his left leg.

"I'm partial to periwinkle myself." Luna said in her misty voice.

"Beautiful! We'll alternate." said Ginny, reaching into her bag.

Yes, fate was cruel. It took all of Severus's strength, but if he strained, he could just open his eyes a tiny sliver. What he saw horrified him. The girl with the wild red hair was unscrewing a small glass bottle of nail varnish in a horrible shade of orangey-red. She pulled off the top, which had a brush attached to it, and dunked in the liquid, carefully wiping the excess before touching it to his crusty overgrown toenail. "There we go Snape. Aren't you glad we came to visit? Just look at the state of your little piggies. I'd say the nurses were neglecting you". She finished up his big toenail and moved on to the middle one. This was humiliating… and the worst part was, she was right. The nurses had neglected to take care of his feet. He had always kept his nails short and immaculately groomed, but now there were cracked and extended an inch past his toes, with yellow fungus crusted around the nail bed. That must have taken months at least. How long had he been lying here?

Ginevra completed his pinky toe and was screwing the cap back. His second and fourth toenails were still bare. She reached again into her bag and produced another small bottle, this time of a pale blue. She unscrewed it and loaded up the brush. "This one has sparkles".

The other two girls giggled and Severus had surpassed his limit. Comatose or not comatose, he could not allow this to continue. He gathered up his strength and tensed the muscles of his lower abdominals, then his middle abdominals, then his chest. Every movement was excruciating. By the time Ginny finished painting his fourth toe sparkly periwinkle he was sitting up, and Hermione and Luna were staring, open-mouthed, back at him. Ginny looked up. "All done! What are you two staring…" She turned around and fell silent too. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" She screamed and suddenly the three bolted from the room.

If Severus could have laughed, he would have.


	3. Chapter 2: Breaking News

_Chapter 2_

 ** _Breaking News_**

"Oy! Save me some food!"

Ginny stumbled down the stairs the next morning (a warm one, of the typical late-June variety) wondering offhandedly if there would be consequences for the incident in Professor Snape's hospital room the day before.

Yes, they had probably not adhered to the St. Mungo's Cheer Squad Code in the strictest sense, but she doubted there was an explicit rule against giving pedicures to coma patients in the ten-point pamphlet the head nurse had handed them the previous morning. Like Fred and George always said, 'Salvation lies in the loopholes, sister dear'. Ginny turned the corner and started down the second flight of stairs. She tripped over a dusty cauldron but somehow managed not to lose her balance, leaping to the landing before she fell. Despite being an excellent chaser, she was actually quite careless in her movements. Her athleticism usually covered it up.

Sliding into the kitchen, she murmured "G'morning", scanning the table for what was left of breakfast. Luckily there was still a slice and a half of bacon sitting in the frying pan (magically handling the cooking process itself). She put the bacon on a plate and grabbed the last cinnamon roll off the tray before squeezing into the rickety open chair between her mother and Charlie.

Charlie ruffled her hair and she rolled her eyes. "Merlin's pants Chuck. I'm of age, I'm really too old for you to treat me like your 'baby sister' anymore." Charlie snorted. This was their thing. He knew Ginny actually didn't mind. After years taming dragons in Romania, he knew she was actually happy to have him home again. She switched to a high, falsely-dignified voice to add "How in Salem am I supposed to find a decent husband with hair that looks like it's been torn up by a troupe of wild nifflers!". Ron and her father chuckled in the midst of chewing and her mother shot her a sharp look.

"So I'm hearing you're finally serious about finding an honest wizard and carrying on the most sacred of our traditions?" Molly said. Ginny sat up straight and shook her head. "Well don't confuse me or I'll sign you up for one of those pureblood mixers all your peers are attending."

"Yes Mum," Ginny said wearily. Of course, it was not all her peers - only the ones from wizarding families would be invited, and Ginny herself would be barely welcome, but the threat had the desired effect.

The family continued eating, a bit subdued until they were interrupted by the arrival of the new family owl, Elvis. Their dear Errol had finally passed on year before and his replacement, Elvis, was definitely more, well… virile? Elvis swooped in and dropped the stack of post in the middle of the table with a loud HOOT!. The new owl was also a bit of a show-off.

"Here you are Gin" said Arthur, passing Ginny a folded piece of Muggle notebook paper with her name on it. It was also written in with one of those strange Muggle pens. It just said '13 Briar Way, Godric's Point, 3pm'. "Oh Mum, Hermione has found us more volunteer work for this afternoon. Near Godric's Hollow."

"That's nice dear," Molly said, without looking up.

Mr. Weasley reached for the Daily Prophet, with Mrs. Weasley picking up the stacks of bills and official-looking correspondence underneath. She read them shrewdly, but without the anxious wince Ginny remembered from her childhood.

"O-HO the devil's finally awake! I told them a little snake bite would never be the end of Severus Snape!" Mr. Weasley cried out. He was reading furiously. "This is amazing news. I wonder if the healers used 'stitches' on him too. Wouldn't that be wonderful Molly?" She flashed a look at him but said nothing.

"Truly?" Charlie said in a low voice. Arthur nodded. "I wonder what he remembers."

. . .

After only half an hour at their new volunteer assignment, all three girls were thoroughly drenched with sweat. It turned out that 13 Briar Way was not another hospital or charity or soup kitchen, but the address to the sprawling Azkaban Gardens.

"This is where they grow all the fruits and vegetables to feed prisoners of the state," Hermione had explained. "I saw their rather desperate advert in the Hog's Head last night, owled them in the morning, and they replied immediately asking how soon we could come! Apparently, they are chronically short-handed."

Located on the mainland, with the island prison looming in the distance, Ginny thought she knew why. It definitely was a grim place. As you toiled in the hot sun, you could not help but think about everyone in there, rotting away, living and reliving all the worst moments of their lives… consuming this very food they needed but were likely too miserable to taste. Brambles and grass and mutated plants she'd never seen before climbed over the neat institutional rows of potatoes, greens, cucumbers, squash as if they had never been tended at all. It would be an impossible job to clear every weed. "Hermione, this is horrible and perfect."

"Yes, I thought so, " Hermione replied, wrenching a half-formed mandrake from the earth. Little potato-like protrusions wiggled all over its lumpy body, but it seemed too inanimate to cry.

Over in the next row, Luna looked strangely in her element. She wore an enormous straw hat and was pulling up armfuls of Devil's Snare as casually as if it were dandelions. Luna paused and gazed out at the prison, her hand on her hip. "This does feel an appropriate setting. In a garden all but forgotten, across the channel from everyone we're trying to forget." Ginny loved Luna's way with words.

"Quite," said Hermione. Hermione did not have much of a way with words, but served to keep Luna on track, so Ginny was grateful for her too.

"It fits though. Our entire society really is completely hypocritical. We've defeated You-Know-Who, but they're still too cowardly to actually look at the parts of ourselves that are ugly. We just sweep our shortcomings under the rug and pretend that we're back in this fairy tale world where Good triumphs over Evil, as if it were that simple. I mean it's definitely bad that dark wizards and Death Eaters still running around either. But it just drives me MAD that people like Percy have managed to take something the Ministry screwed up, for years and years, and then ride its coattails back up to status and power. I mean, honestly, remember how useless he was when You-Know-Who first came back? Pretending it hadn't happened. And now he's pretending he's a hero, 'cleaning up the town,' when I'm not convinced he's doing anything. It's sickening!"

Ginny's outburst hung in the air and for a few moments they weeded quietly. Ginny picked at some brambles, and was grateful to the dragon hide gloves protecting her fingers.

"Perhaps we start there," said Hermione.

That afternoon, over much sweating and swearing, the three witches hatched themselves a plan.

. . .

Being a medical miracle was nothing short of miserable.

The nurses fussed over Severus constantly, asking how he felt, and how did he feel now? and what would he like for breakfast? and could they make him more comfortable? How was he supposed to rest with their constant haranguing.

Severus received mountains of mail he did not read, sweets he did not care for and flowers that set off his allergies. But by far the worst were the people. People came to visit Severus several times a day, becoming falsely emotional and asking the same inane questions about his now famous NDE ("Near Death Experience", he now knew) and pretending to give a rat's ass about his health when he was sure they had spent the entire time he was unconscious cursing him as a Death Eater. How could one rest amidst all of that?

The main problem was he was really quite weak. Seventeen months of lying in a bed unconscious had caused his muscles to wither, to the point that simply sitting up left him breathless. His vocal chords too felt inelastic, like the dried out ligaments of a dead cat, making speaking both difficult and painful. And so bellowing obscenities at his tormentors or stalking off in a huff were both out of the question. Thus, days in St. Mungo's passed slowly.

Severus was accustomed to spending long hours reading; here he made do with the Daily Prophet, each day reading it cover to cover. He was finishing up a particularly flimsy opinion piece ("Why Owl Post Should Be Replaced With Rat Couriers") when his thoughts turned yet again to the only other reading material in his possession for a moment. It was safely concealed for the present. When the time was right, he would examine it and learn its secrets. It hoped it would come soon. A commotion in the corridor pulled him out of his reverie.

"Easy Iverson, watch his head," said a thick masculine voice.

"His head? Where in the Devil's his head?" The second was more nasal.

"I think it's under that pot plant…" The two men walked past his open door and Severus glimpsed what they levitated between them.. It was amorphous dark blob the size of a piano, encrusted with gravel and sparkles was being supported between them. Near the bottom a pair of designer horn-rimmed glasses and a tuft of reddish-brown hair stuck out of the jumble.

"Welcome, Weasley," Severus called. For the first time in seventeen months, the ghost of a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his paper and started on the obituaries section.


	4. Chapter 3: Visiting Friends

_Chapter 4_

 ** _Visiting Friends_**

It was beginning to become apparent exactly why Molly Weasley had demanded her family accompany her on "a stroll in London" when they reached the dingy department storefront that concealed the public entrance to St. Mungo's. Without so much as an explanation, Molly had approached the dusty mannequin who fielded visitors, and obtained name tags for her and her four present family members. From there, she had directed them inside and into the lift. Now on the13th floor she led the Weasleys down a long flagstone corridor that smelled strongly of antiseptic and was lit with fluorescent lights.

" _Leeeft. Leeeft. Left - right - leeeft."_ George murmured under his breath.

This particular stunt was was a reference to a time then Bill had compared life growing up to being in the military with their mother as the raging general.. The comparison had perhaps hit a little close to home, because Mum had blown up at the accusation and gotten angry, leading Bill to point it out as a case in point… making her angrier still. It was such a ridiculous self-fulfilling prophecy that even Dad had started laughing in the end and now basically we almost never brought it up, unless we were intentionally trying to make Mum annoyed. And Charlie and Ginny marched quietly behind Molly and Arthur, waiting her to turn around and yell at them.

Charlie and Ginny marched behind him. It was juvenile, but so was three adults being dragged to pay respects by their mother.

George's new jokes were like that. About a year after the war, as life had begun to drag itself back toward some sort of normalcy, George had started cracking jokes again, much to everyone's relief. But without his twin, George's comedy had developed a stripped-down quality. Where before, he and Fred would shock everyone with outrageous proclamations and over-the-top pranks, creating dramatic scenes of pure chaos… now George's jokes were often silent, implied rather and enacted, or so subtle you only 'got' them later, when he had left the room and you considered when he had said. Like their family, his sense of humor felt reduced.

"13-E, 13-D, 13-C… aha here we are 13-B, the Quintillius Confundus Sprightly ward for Unidentified Curse Catastrophes. Let's go inside." And look who's here.. Stomping his feet a bit, George marched across the threshold and into the ward, saluting his parents and lifting his knees high. Ginny and Charlie scrambled to copy him, making a straight line of people standing in salute.

"Don't even get me started you three," Molly said crossly. "Go say hello to your brother."

Reluctantly the three siblings approached a swollen, moaning blob that loosely resembled their brother Percy. "Hullo Percy," they said in unison. And then they just stood there, awkwardly lost for words. No one in the Weasley family was actually on speaking terms with Percy.

"Say, look on the bright side, at least his head looks normal," said George. Molly elbowed him.

Percy lifted one elbow a few inches, as if to say 'I'm not dead yet'.

For Ginny the whole scenario was too depressing to bear.

"I'm going to find the toilet." Ginny muttered, and turned toward the door. Her mother gave her the side-eye but said nothing.

"Clean up after your done sis. I'll need to vomit next." George called after her.

…

Not in any hurry, Ginny paced down the long, narrow 13th floor corridor.

Carefully, she placed each footstep directly in front of the last, so that her journey would last the maximum amount of time possible. Despite this being the floor where many of the most seriously ill patients were treated Ginny did not encounter a soul... no healers, and no other visitors. She supposed it was a little sad.

Most of the doorways on this ward were closed, so there really wasn't much to look at as she made slow progress toward her destination at the end of the hall. This left Ginny annoyingly to her thoughts.

When she was younger, Ginny had not really minded times like these. On summer days she would often wake up early, grab a bit of food and take one of her brothers' brooms out into the countryside to practice flying, look at nature, and nap in the sun. These days, her thoughts were a swirling toxic soup that lashed out whenever she was left alone with them. Death, shame, lack of direction, sadness. The strong sense that everything was still completely broken inside and outside, but without a clear adversary upon which to focus her wand.

"Miss Weasley..." growled a voice from inside one of the wards whose door was open. Ginny looked up.

Reflexively she felt a ghost of a familiar shiver that regularly crept up every potions student's spine at Hogwarts. So he was still here.

But Ginny was no longer afraid of her former potions master, especially if he were still in the hospital. After all, he would definitely be the type to discharge himself as soon as humanly possible. If he were still here it must be that he was too weak to care for himself, and had no choice but to be at the mercy of the hospital staff.

Well, perhaps he deserved it.

Whatever her parents said, after being simultaneously Dumbledore's and Voldemort's right hand wizards, as well as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Ginny thought that it was only fair Snape re-learned what it was like to feel helpless again.

So she directed her feet sharply to the right, and entered the somber ward she had visited during her brief stint as a St. Mungo's Cheerer.

Three sets of billowing mauve curtains hung down from the stone ceiling. All three were closed, but Snape's bed would be the one on the far left, if she remembered correctly. If she did not, well, what did it matter?

"Snape." Ginny said.

He still looked pretty bad. Not that she cared much.

"My savior hath returned," he croaked.

Snape had not been propped up like most hospital patients who were receiving visitors, and so he said these words to the ceiling.

"...or tormentor," he continued.

"Manicurist?"

She laughed once, hollowly.

"What do you want with me now, Professor?"

It must have been something in the tone of her voice, because at this Severus seemed to back down. He did not respond and closed his eyes, shutting off his view of the stone ceiling.

"Well…?" Ginny demanded. "Well?"

"Just a book," he said finally. "From my valise"

"Where?"

Slowly, Snape raised his left hand a few inches off the bed. His long, stick-like forefinger pointed at a black leather briefcase sitting underneath a maroon armchair just inside the area that was curtained off. Not sure why she was following his orders, Ginny knelt down and reached for the valise, undid the latch, and opened the main compartment. The garish fluorescent light immediately reach the bottom. "It's empty."

"No.." Snape protested.

She held up the bag for him to see. "Yes, empty. Tough luck professor. Looks like you'll have to make due without your stories."

"Invisible."

Ginny paused. Was this true? In response she up-ended Snape's valise, causing pens to clatter to the floor and a few coins to jostle, followed by a heavier 'SMACK' as something she could not see hit the floor. She reached out toward the place where the noise had come from and indeed her fingers closed around a thin leather-bound book.

Ginny stood and examined the object more closely. Yes. it was completely invisible from all angles. She opened it to reveal a few hundred brittle, very invisible pages. Then she placed the book to Snape's torso.

"Thank you," he said. "One more thing….it needs to be unlocked." Then Snape jerkily raised his head to look straight at her. He was panting with the effort. His black eyes were full of intensity.

"It needs a transgression."

Ginny paused. _A transgression?_ She considered. "So, you'd like me to spit in your food? Does that get you off?"

"Worse."

She thought for a moment. Then she put her finger to her lips "Worse you say? Hmm what could be worse…Locking children up for days? Forcing them to harvest fire crabs without gloves, or having second years practice stinging hexes on the first years? Withholding letters from families, withholding meals, beatings, being chained by Mr. Filch?"

Still Snape held Ginny's gaze. Then she struck out.

 _Crucio!_

Instantly Snape's body convulsed on the bed, every muscle contracting as he flopped around, his mouth open in a silent scream. Ginny was transfixed. She had never done such a thing before and it was not as Harry had said when he had attempted it - sorry and ineffective. Her spell was terrible.

When Snape's neck went slack she snapped out of it and the spell ended. Suddenly his body was completely still. Ginny thought he was unconscious. And atop his chest lay a thin old book bound in blood red canvas.

Ginny's finger tingled strangely. She had transgressed.


	5. Chapter 4: Bodies

**Chapter 4**

 **Bodies**

The whole rest of that week, Ginny felt strange. Like her blood had been replaced with ice harpy venom, or perhaps her skin had been sloughed off and replaced with a glamour. She had cast her first unforgivable curse, and she had used it on her former professor. Even worse, she had used it when he was defenseless and weak. She was not the witch she thought she was. She was something ugly and terrible.

Her unemployed status had officially gone from mildly embarrassing to completely unbearable. When she was not pouring over the Daily Prophet and churning out cover letter after cover letter, advertising her essentially non-existent skills, or opening her piles of rejection letters, there really was nothing for Ginny to do in sleepy Ottery St. Catchpole. Her mum had a system for everything, which had felt lovely and safe when she had been home for summer holidays as a student. Now it was a stifling regime that turned the entire household into a minefield of possible infractions that would unavoidably incur her mother's wrath.

In a desperate attempt to relieve the tension, Wednesday Ginny had flown out to the hills just after breakfast, and forced herself to stay there until sunset, pretending to read and attempting to practice some advanced transfiguration, which she had quite liked before the war. Mostly though, she just tried not to pull out her hair as she fought to keep the bad thoughts at bay. Her plan backfired in the end though. When she returned, her father's boss was over for dinner and Molly was running around the kitchen frantically trying to convince Alfred Hootinglower she ran the perfect magical household. When Ginny showed up with windswept hair in her dusty muggle attire the department head had sniffed judgmentally. And Molly did not stop barking orders at her until over an hour after Hootinglower had left.

Throughout all these trials her one rock was her father, and to a lesser degree, Charlie. They were the ones who helped put everything into perspective, when it felt as if these painful, crawling days might go on forever. Whenever she needed a hug or a shoulder to rest her head on, Arthur was there, with no judgements or advice. He and Charlie would crack jokes and tell stories about the year Charlie had been stuck at the Burrow after Hogwarts. "By the time I got my offer from the dragon trainers, Dad told me I'd better take it, since it at least there I'd have some chance of survival," Charlie had reminisced. "Let's just say, no matter how bored you are, it's never a good idea to take on the gnomes. It will be humiliating, and you will lose."

With her desperation at such intensity, Ginny could not help but shriek when she received her first promising response in weeks. It was a note from Sylvestra Enqisorio, requesting she come in for an interview! Madam Enquisorio was the proprietor of Local Tomes, a new bookstore that had opened as a competitor to Flourish and Blotts in London. Ginny owled back that she could come the next day, and Madam Enquisorio told her to come at 10. It seemed Ginny might finally become unstuck.

And so Ginny awoke early on the day of her interview. Not wanting to make the same mistake she had with Hootinglower she made sure to wear fine dress robes in a shade of blue so deep it was almost black. These were the ones that made her look the most dignified, and also set off her flaming orange hair to an interesting effect. She cleaned her dragonhide boots until they shone and and tied her hair into three sensible braids. After a few pieces of multigrain toast and a cup of tea she grabbed her broom set off for Diagon Alley. The second she kicked off from the ground her nerves calmed. Flying had that effect. She was on top of this. She was literally on top of everything.

She parked her broom in the back alley behind the Leaky Cauldron and placed her locking spell on it. She was actually a bit proud of it, because the locking spell was the first spell she had ever written. Although it was mostly just a combination of two other locking spells she had researched, she always threw in a special extra wand flick that intertwined the two in such a way that other wizards would have a hard time recognizing them. It was unlikely anyone would tamper with her broom.

Ginny knocked on the side door to Local Tomes at precisely at 10.

Madam Enquisorio came to the door and looked at Ginny with her long hair and fine robes and sighed. "Well hello there princess. I supposed you must be Ginevera," she said, mostly to herself. "Well follow me."

Abruptly she turned, and Ginny scurried after her. They two women entered a cluttered office filled with boxes of books and inventory sheets, and passed through another door into a literal fire hazard of a store room, with shaky stacks of books climbing from floor to the magically elevated ceiling 20 feet up. "So Ginevra, why do you want to work the stock room in a bookstore?"

"Well, I thought it would be a good first job, you know. I'm fresh out of Hogwarts and it's in Diagon Alley. I'm very enthusiastic and I could be a big help organizing the books and everything." Ginny answered.

"That sounds nice," Madam Enquisorio said. "Well tell me, where would you find a book from the publisher Beecham & Beetle, on night-blooming herbs?"

Ginny was ready for this one. She had studied with Hermione and knew the Dewey Decimal system forward and back. Taking a look at the stacks closest to her to orient herself, she set off briskly to the left, making a right at the end of the row and heading to the middle-back of the stock room. But as luck would have it her second turn was, well… sloppy. Slipping on a stray piece of parchment that lurked around the corner, Ginny lost her footing and stumbled to regain it. But while she recovered, an oversized ancient Norwegian atlas was shuffled, knocking into the stack directly next to it and bringing both stacks crumbling down. Thinking fast, Ginny pulled her wand from her sleeve and steadied both stacks. But when she looked back at Madam Enquisorio, she was not happy. "I see you managed to jumble about 50 books in less than five minutes." She shook her head. "No, you can teach organization, but precision and carefulness? Those are either in your bones, or they aren't. I'm sorry I'd like to help you out, but you don't seem right for this job."

"No… please… don't you think there's anything else I could do?" Ginny protested.

Madam Enquisorio paused to think for a moment.

"Well, can you do a P & L? A profit and loss scroll?" Madam Enquisorio demanded. "They're originally a muggle accounting practice, but now all the serious Wizard businesses use them… at least those that aren't too stuck up."

"Um, sorry, I don't know any accounting," Ginny said reluctantly.

"It's alright dear," Madam Enquisorio said, patting her arm and standing up. "I don't think you're stuck up. I'm sure it's not your fault you're not drawn to practical skills. Pureblood girls like you rarely do. And perhaps that's alright."

Madam Enquisorio led Ginny to the door and before she knew it, the heavy slice of oak was closing in front of her. "Come back when your kids are ready for Hogwarts. I'll get you a good deal." She winked, and then the door closed with a wooden THUD.

Ginny had never felt more pathetic or misunderstood.

Returning to the Leaky Cauldron in defeat, she scribbled the same note on one piece of parchment twice and ripped it in two, throwing each note into the fire with a pinch of Floo Powder.

S.O.S.

Diagon Alley!

3 G

Ginny had not been sitting at her table at the Leaky Cauldron long enough to make a dent in her butterbeer before when a beautiful but strange girl with white-blonde hair floated into the pub.

"Luna!" she exclaimed.

"Hullo Ginny," Luna answered succinctly. Ginny stood up and threw her arms around her friend's neck. She smelled familiarly of lavender and onion grass.

"That was fast. I only just sent the message."

"Message?" said Luna quizzically. "I don't think I received any messages today. You see, I spent the entire morning at the muggle arboretum, and I was about to go home when it suddenly struck me that peacock feather quill would be just the thing to sketch up illustrations of this beautiful tree I saw, and so here I am."

"I swear, you truly are psychic."

Luna ordered a gillywater and joined Ginny at her table. She leaned in and said emphatically, "I'm not though."

"You and everyone who isn't constantly telling me I'm off the deep end is always saying I'm psychic or some sort of mystic on some level, but it doesn't really make sense. Not that I mind, but I think it's a little silly.' Luna paused. "Except Hermione."

"But the truth is, I'm surprised far too often to have any divinatory abilities. Take two days ago for example, when we had that fantastic thunderstorm. It started out as the most beautiful summer day; so nice that I decided I must go down to the lake to have a swim and dive for bog lilies, an elusive aquatic flower that Merpeople exchange as a token of eternal love. The thing is, anyone who had read the weather report that day would have known there would be a torrential storm just hours later. I didn't, and sure enough, without so much as a cloak or hood or decent shoes I was soaked to the bone and shivering two hours later. If I had premonitions I'm sure I would have had a feeling about something as natural and obvious as a storm, and if I had telepathy I would definitely have picked up on it from any of the villagers I passed on the way to the lake. But no, that rain took me completely by surprise."

"Hm," said Ginny.

"Which is to say, we have a connection." Luna was solemn, holding Ginny's gaze with her ice grey eyes. "Now please, tell me what happened to you."

With Luna there, Ginny instantly felt a bit better, and she launched into an account of everything that had gone wrong at her first real job interview. About halfway through Hermione arrived, and she had to start again, and when she finished they all ordered a round of Firewhiskey-ciders. By the time they finished the round after that they were all laughing and gossiping and confessing their dearest desires before the others, as if they sat before the Mirror of Erised, rather than a craggy wooden table littered with cloudy glasses of alcohol.

"The main problem," Hermione explained, "is that we went to Hogwarts to prepare us for one world, and by the time we graduated, it had become a completely different world altogether! I used to be obsessed with books and studying —" Ginny and Luna erupted into a false coughing fit "— aaand perhaps I still am. But the magical world is still so messed up, and it needs more than obedient citizens who sit back and follow the rules, or blindly enforce them, like some aurors we know…" *coughHARRY*, *coughRON* … "Well, the muggle word for what I want to be is an 'activist'. But I'm not sure it will make sense to wizards during peacetime… I really need to read more books…" Hermione trailed off there and started scribbling things haphazardly in a notebook while Luna and Ginny went to the bar for another round.

"If only I didn't need to stay here and look after father," Luna mused. "I would set out in search of magical plants and animals no one has ever heard of… or that they've heard of, but don't dare dream they exist. I don't mind because I'll dare for them, and bring back samples for research, and publish accounts of my fantastic adventures. Eventually I'll be known as great writer as well as an herbologist and animologist"

"—Like Gilderoy Lockhart?" Hermione pretended to swoon and they all collapsed into a fit of giggles that caused the bar's more somber patrons to shoot them sidelong glances.

When their glasses had gotten low and afternoon had turned to early evening, Hermione and Luna turned to look at Ginny. "Yerrr turn," Hermione slurred.

"Dare." she said confidently. Luna giggled.

"No, I'm serious," said Hermione crossly. "What about you."

"Oh, I dunno, " she said lamely. "Maybe I'll work for a couple years, and then just try to get the whole kids thing over with. Mum really wants me to, and if I get married young I could have all my kids in Hogwarts by the time I'm 35. Then I'd be able to do whatever I wanted."

"Is that really what you want Gin?" Hermione asked.

"Wouldn't be so bad" Ginny said with false bravado. "We'll see. If nothing better comes along."

"Oh. I suppose."

Ginny stared at the dregs of her flat beer, as her friends did the same. She knew she had disappointed them. But the truth was, when she pictured herself anywhere in the future, all she saw was a big dark shadow.

Suddenly she was tired of hanging out. She was tired and dizzy and drunk, and completely drained of entertaining things to say. "Shall I — hiccup — get the bill then?"

"'Kay."

Ginny made her way to the bar with her purse and was in the process of flagging down Tom, the landlord, when she felt her neck yanked into a headlock. She shrieked, but it turned quickly into a snarl when she realized who it was. "Blaiiise! What is wrong with you!" Blaise Zabini had strolled in with his buddies Draco Malfoy and Dean Thomas. As a result of all of the interruptions during the war, many members of Blaise, Draco, Dean and Hermione's class had come back to do their seventh year with Ginny and Luna's class, resulting in more than a few unlikely friendships. All excellent Quidditch players and social butterflies, her ex-boyfriend and the two Slytherins had formed a bit of a trio while they were finishing up their last year at Hogwarts, after the war. As the highest scoring Chaser when they graduated, Ginny was used to seeing Blaise and his gang at parties, although mostly they just yelled and bickered.

"Cool it Gin, you're making a scene," Blaise said annoyingly. "Gin, that's it. Gin! Four gins for me and my associates Tom!"

"Make it three actually. I'm actually here with Hermione and Luna, and in fact we were just leaving."

"We're only staying for one round anyway. Come on, it's on us," said Dean, putting his arm around Hermione. What do you say?"

"Well, it's still early, I suppose." Merlin! The one time Ginny needed Hermione to be 'the sensible one' she was out for lunch. Ginny of course knew that Hermione had developed a serious crush on Dean after his powerful Salutatorian speech (unsurprisingly Hermione herself had been Valedictorian), but Ginny had hoped that information hadn't made its way back to Dean yet. Current evidence suggested otherwise.

Draco Malfoy walked up to Luna, who he had never actually met and stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Draco."

"Oh, I know that," Luna answered without shaking his hand. "Do you know the Legend of the Lost Bog Lilies?"

"No, but I'm dying to hear about it. Do tell!" said Draco enthusiastically, and followed Luna back to a larger table, struggling to keep from laughing.

Then Ginny threw up her arms. "Whatever!"

Twenty minutes later they were all wedged into a semi-circular booth in the back of the Leaky Cauldron drinking gin. The boys had also ordered shots in an effort to catch up to Ginny, Luna and Hermione. It was definitely working. Dean, Hermione and Luna were in a heated debate about the (theoretical or real, depending on who you were) physics of wrackspurt movements, while Draco and Blaise were competing to see who could tell the most outrageous story to Ginny, who was only half listening. Really, she was alternating between being deep in her own inner monologue, and trying to practice thinking nothing at all, while still looking happy and engaged. For some reason that was the only game that interested her at the moment.

As the night grew later, Blaise took to placing his hand under the table, on Ginny's leg. When he did this, she would let him keep it there for a few minutes, before unceremoniously dumping it back in his lap. This was another game too. She didn't necessarily mind Blaise's hand being there, but it did feel irritatingly possessive, so she also felt inclined to remove it. She was here to be with her friends, not as a conquest for some guy. The next time she removed Blaise's hand from her leg she reached out with her other hand and took Luna's. Luna squeezed back and she felt happy and safe.

The next time Blaise's hand touched her leg he didn't just rest it there like before. Moving his thumb, he rubbed it across Ginny's kneecap, back and forth, and then twisted his wrist so that his long cool fingers caressed the inside of her leg and the space behind her knee. That got her attention, a little. It actually felt rather nice. As Blaise worked his way up and down her thigh, squeezing and stroking, it became more and more difficult to concentrate on the conversation. Embarrassingly, her crotch had become soaking wet, and when Blaise finally reached the apex of her legs, he felt it and the corner of his mouth twitched. Then he took his hand back and placed it on the table, and Ginny was left just holding Luna's and worrying if anyone else had realized what was going on.

Ginny seriously needed to clear her head. She stood up, mumbling something about finding the loo, and walked to the other side of the pub. She pulled back the heavy door to the women's toilet and found it was empty. Standing at the sink, she splashed cold water on her face and tried to decide what her next move was. She like Blaise, but he was more of a drinking buddy. She wasn't sure she really wanted to go home with him tonight and open up that Pandora's box.

Unfortunately, her body was telling her a different story. It definitely wanted to go home with Blaise. She wondered if her and her body might work something out.

She stepped into a stall in the deserted restroom, unlaced the front of her robes and yanked down her wet knickers, freeing her swollen cunt. With two gentle fingers she began stroking her clit, thinking about the way Blaise had stroked her knee under the table. Her mouth fell open and more moisture dripped from her opening. Finally she allowed herself to slip a finger in between her lips and deep inside herself. Moving slowly she could not help but moan. She thought about Blaise touching her deep inside and her breath became shallow. She felt weak in the knees and leaned against the side of the stall for support. Pushing in another finger, thought of the other hand she had held under the table. She thought about Luna touching her too, and how naked she felt when she looked at her with her clear grey eyes and Ginny came hard, seeing a few stars as she stared up at the spinning ceiling.

She pulled up her panties and excited the loo. On her way back to the booth, she pilfered a cigarette from someone else's table and stuck it in her mouth. Her hand smelled like pussy. Blaise looked up when she reached the table. "I need a light," she told him, leaning in close.

Tom the barman poured drinks and wiped glasses like always. He'd seen it all. He'd seen much worse.


End file.
